by Merry Farmer
“More folk than I cared about you boys, young Lawrence,” Mr. Albright said. “Though, if I recall, the three of you didn’t think much of anyone else.”
“We were young,” Jason brushed the censorious look Mr. Albright gave him away with a grin.
Mr. Albright turned to Matty. “And you said your name was Matty….”
Mathilda Wright. The name choked Matty into silence. Her throat closed up, banishing any hope she had of being able to repeat it.
“Matty came to me without a memory,” Lawrence explained. “I’ve been working on figuring out who she is.”
But not too intently, for which Matty was grateful. She was also grateful that the Pycroft family had found them and was walking down the path toward them en masse.
“Ah, Marshall,” Mr. Throckmorton turned to greet them. “I have a surprise for you.”
As Mary broke away from her father and skipped up to Matty’s side, Mr. Albright turned to face Dr. Pycroft. The mild expression that Dr. Pycroft wore turned into a reserved frown.
“Young Marshall,” Mr. Albright greeted him with a smile. “How good to see you. I was so sorry to hear about your wife.”
“Thank you, sir,” Marshall replied without emotion.
Matty’s worries dissolved into curiosity at the blankness of Dr. Pycroft’s expression and his cold attitude. She relished the chance to have something else to think about.
“Come now,” Jason said, shifting from foot to foot with the anxious look of a man who’s grand plans had gone awry. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”
Dr. Pycroft’s frown deepened and turned on Mr. Throckmorton. “Girls,” he said. “Why don’t you run off and take a look at the roses.”
Mr. Throckmorton huffed in exasperation.
“Yes, Papa,” Mary said, taking Martha’s hand.
“I’ll come with you,” Matty spoke up. She glanced to Lawrence. “That will give the men a chance to talk about old times without us.” In truth, it would give her a chance to get away from the strange feelings Mr. Albright riled in her. Something about him screamed danger.
Lawrence gave her a questioning look as she took Molly’s hand, but she returned that with a smile, heading off along the path with Mary and the others. She made sure they walked quickly to the other side of the hotel before Mr. Albright could worry her any further.
“Look at all the flowers,” Molly said, breathless, as they slowed their pace at the far side of the garden. “Have you ever seen anything so pretty in your life?”
“Papa said we could stay at the party all night,” Martha informed Matty.
Mary burst into an uncharacteristic smile. “He really did. We’re to stay for supper and the ball too.”
“Really?” Matty asked. “Even though you’re children?”
“Uncle Jason is my godfather,” Mary explained.
“He’s nice,” Martha added.
“He sent each of use special invitations, individually addressed,” Mary went on. “The little girls don’t remember, but when I was Martha’s age, we lived in London, and so did Uncle Jason. He would visit and take me out for ices.”
“How very kind.”
“Hello?” a soft, woman’s voice spoke from behind Matty.
Matty saw Mary frown just before turning to find a beautifully dressed woman, about twice as old as her, hurrying forward across the garden path. Her hair was caught up in the latest fashion, and she wore a smile that managed to put Matty on guard while still appearing lovely.
“Mrs. Crimpley,” Mary said. She curtsied and gestured for the younger girls to curtsy as well.
“H-hello, Miss Pycroft,” Mrs. Crimpley stuttered, as if nervous to be addressing such a young girl so formally. “I was wondering if I might talk to your…friend alone.”
Warning bells clamored in Matty’s head. Mary arched an eyebrow, and Matty had the feeling that her young friend would stick by her side to the gates of hell if she was asked to. Bolstered by that thought, Matty nodded, indicating it was all right for her to go. Mary took Martha and Molly’s hands and walked off, checking on Matty over her shoulder.
As soon as they were out of earshot, swallowed up by the growing, noisy crowd, Mrs. Crimpley said, “I’ve been so hoping to meet you…Matty is it?” She clasped her hands in front of her, her eyelids fluttering as though she was being put to a great test.
“Yes,” Matty said and bobbed a short curtsy. “Ma’am.”
“Oh, Mrs. Crimpley, please. No need to be that formal.”
“Mrs. Crimpley,” Matty repeated.
For an awkward moment, the two of them stood there, looking at each other.
At last, Mrs. Crimpley cleared her throat, refreshed her smile, and said, “My dear, I have been wondering. How do you like staying at the forge?”
“I like it very much, ma’am,” Matty answered. She didn’t like the question. It was deceptively simple.
“Oh.” Mrs. Crimpley seemed surprised. “You find the accommodations there…suitable?”
“They’re good enough for me, ma’am,” Matty said. “I don’t need much.”
Mrs. Crimpley pressed her lips together. “You don’t find them…cramped? Or…or overly…intimate?”
Yes, the woman was definitely fishing for something. “I am quite happy.”
Mrs. Crimpley took a breath and slid closer to her. “My dear, I have been greatly concerned for you since my husband told me the state in which you were found.”
Crimpley. Matty put the pieces together. This woman was the wife of the loud, frightening man who had come to the forge a week ago. Matty’s guard went up even higher. She kept silent, waiting for the woman to say her piece.
“It’s just that Mr. Smith has something of a reputation,” she went on, wringing her hands now.
“He has been very kind to me,” Matty said.
“Yes, well, my concern is that he will be too kind.” When Matty showed no reaction to the statement, Mrs. Crimpley inched closer still and lowered her voice further. “He’s…he’s a hedonist, you see.”
Prickles of worry raced down Matty’s spine. She didn’t like the way Mrs. Crimpley said the word, but since Matty didn’t know what it meant, she had no way of knowing if the woman was lying or revealing something she should be afraid of.
Mrs. Crimpley must have seen the lack of understanding in her eyes. She lowered her voice to a whisper and said, “He’s not Christian.”
Pieces fit into place. “Yes,” she said. “He’s explained to me that he follows the older religion of times long past.”
Evidently, Mrs. Crimpley didn’t expect Matty to know about that. She opened her mouth in shock, blinked a few times, then shut it.
“Well…I…it would seem to me that knowing this, you would want to leave the forge at once,” she said.
“No, ma’am,” Matty told her. “I am quite content where I am.”
“But…but the man is a heathen. A gypsy. How could you possibly—”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Throckmorton called out. He had moved away from the conversation with his friends and was now standing at the top of the steps in front of the hotel’s open door. Someone had strung a thick, red ribbon across the entry. “Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please.”
As the crowd stopped milling around the garden and gathered between the hotel door and the gate, Matty spotted Lawrence striding easily toward her. He saw Mrs. Crimpley standing beside her, but his expression and posture betrayed no alarm. He must not have seen the woman as a threat.
“Excuse me,” Matty said with a smile.
She broke away from Mrs. Crimpley and headed toward Lawrence. The threat was passed for the moment, but an eerie tickle at the back of her neck told her the real confrontation was yet to come.
Alexandra
“Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention please.”
“Oh bother. I told you we would be late because of you,” Lady Charlotte muttered as she shuffled Alex throug
h the hotel’s front gate.
“We aren’t late at all, Aunt Charlotte,” Elizabeth said with a smile as bright as ever. “Why, Mr. Throckmorton has only just begun talking. We’re right on time.”
In fact, as soon as Mr. Throckmorton spotted the three of them slipping in through the gate at the last minute, his shoulders relaxed and his look of fierce command softened into a welcoming smile. He nodded to Elizabeth. Elizabeth was busy fussing with the hem of her gown, which had caught on one of the rose bushes. Alex sighed for the poor man.
“I would like to welcome you all to the grand opening celebration of The Dragon’s Head hotel,” Mr. Throckmorton went on. “It is a pleasure to be able to welcome so many from Brynthwaite and beyond to this very special achievement of mine. I may have lived the past fifteen years of my life in London, but with the opening of The Dragon’s Head, I have come home.”
Alex thought Mr. Throckmorton rather liked the sound of his own voice. He had a lovely, sonorous bass, but she wasn’t in the least bit interested in a thing he had to say. She had been forced into attending this useless display of wealth and circumstance. If she’d had any chance at all of getting out of it, if there was any justice in the world, she would be at the hospital right now, tucking the resident patients into bed and making sure they would last through the night. They needed her careful attendance far more than her mother did.
“…but no efforts bring with them such an amount of satisfaction as those we endeavor for at home,” Mr. Throckmorton spoke on.
Alex lifted to her toes, searching the crowd for the friendly face of Dr. Pycroft. Marshall was like a brother to Mr. Throckmorton, so he would surely be front and center.
“Alexandra,” her mother hissed through clenched teeth. “You will stand still like a lady.”
Alex huffed out a breath and rocked back to her feet. “I’ll thank you not to treat me like a child, mother.”
“And I’ll thank you not to act like one,” Lady Charlotte snapped.
Alex pressed her lips together and ignored her. She caught Elizabeth’s eye as she searched the back of the assembled crowd. Elizabeth made a face at Lady Charlotte, which caused Alex to break into laughter. At least she wasn’t entirely alone. Better still, she spotted Marshall over to one side of the assembly. His daughters were with him, as was Mr. Smith and the mysterious woman, Matty.
“And so, without further ado,” Mr. Throckmorton wrapped up his speech, “I invite you all to come inside for supper.” He turned and cut the ribbon blocking the doorway with a large pair of scissors that had materialized out of thin air, for all Alex was paying attention.
Lady Charlotte turned to face Alex with a sharp stare. “You will behave yourself at supper. You will be cordial to your fellow guests and refrain from boring them with talk of medicine.”
Alex’s only reply was to meet her mother’s stare with one of her own. She knew enough by now to know that what her mother was truly saying was that if any eligible young men were thrown her way, Alex had a moral obligation to appear as acquiescent and charming to them as was humanly possible. Well, they would just see about that.
“It is a very grand hotel,” Elizabeth said, taking Alex’s arm. Whether it was a show of camaraderie or an extension of Lady Charlotte’s insistence that Alex behave, Alex wasn’t sure. She decided to give her cousin the benefit of the doubt. “When I was here last week for tea, I was heartily impressed. Mr. Throckmorton has spared no expense in creating an oasis in the wilderness that is the height of luxury.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Alex replied, following the press of the crowd as they funneled into the hotel. “One does wonder why he would build such a hotel in Brynthwaite, of all places. Isn’t a bit out of the way for such opulence?”
“Of course not,” Lady Charlotte huffed. “Holidays at the lakes are all the rage right now. Mr. Throckmorton has foresight and initiative. I find him to be quite brilliant.” As she finished her praise, a light of inspiration lifted her features. She turned to Alex with a wide smile.
“No, mother,” Alex said. “His interests lie elsewhere.”
Immediately, Lady Charlotte’s face fell. “True.”
Alex peeked at Elizabeth raising an eyebrow.
“Don’t look at me like that, Alexandra Dyson,” Elizabeth said as they climbed the broad front steps and entered the hotel’s high-ceilinged lobby. “I have done nothing to encourage him.”
“Why not?” Alex teased her. “He’s rich enough, and he’s quite handsome.”
“Mmm.” Elizabeth gave a noncommittal hum, but couldn’t say more. Mr. Throckmorton was waiting for them at the entrance to the dining room.
“Lady Elizabeth,” he said with a gracious brow. “How delightful to see that you’ve arrived.”
A hint of impatience about the man as he rose and greeted Lady Charlotte and Alex gave Alex the feeling that he was scolding her cousin for being late rather than welcoming her.
“It’s all so magnificent,” Elizabeth replied to him with a cheery smile. She let go of Alex’s arm and moved smoothly to take Mr. Throckmorton’s when he offered it. Elizabeth may not have considered the ambitious hotelier to be a serious suitor, but she wasn’t above being seen on the arm of the man of the hour when it suited her.
The dining room was as impressive as Elizabeth had reported it to be. Its high ceilings were inlaid with gold-toned wood, and the half dozen electric chandeliers that illuminated it gave the room the feel of something out of a fairy tale. Paired with the wood, the light-rose wallpaper, flecked with gold, and the tall, wide windows lent an airy feel to the space. Dozens of round tables draped with white cloths and adorned with spreading arrangements of flowers and shining table-settings made Alex feel as though she had walked into a royal feast. The scent of rich food hung in the air as well, unusual, but decidedly appealing. A row of hotel staff lined one wall, ready to jump into action at a moment’s notice if needed, while a few other, key staff members in black uniforms, the women with crisp white aprons and caps, moved discretely amongst the tables, helping guests to find their seats.
“I stand corrected,” Alex murmured, glancing around at the splendor of it all.
“What’s that, my dear?” her mother asked.
“Nothing,” Alex said aloud, but inwardly, Mr. Throckmorton had just risen immeasurably in Alex’s esteem from social-climber to genius. He’d created a small miracle in the form of a hotel. The awed murmurs and comments of the other guests only confirmed that opinion. Had she thought that Brynthwaite had nothing that would draw tourists to visit? She was wrong. The Dragon’s Head was the attraction. Mr. Throckmorton was brilliant. He must also have been wealthier than her wildest imaginings.
“I’ve taken the liberty of seating you and your family at my table,” the man himself said, leading Lady Elizabeth to a table in the very heart of the room. “It would be an honor to have the most notable personage of the county dine with me on such an eventful evening.” He moved to hold a chair out for Elizabeth.
“You are too kind, Mr. Throckmorton,” Elizabeth said, sinking into the chair as gracefully as a fairy queen taking possession of her castle.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Throckmorton,” Alex said with far more magnanimity when he held out a chair for her at Elizabeth’s side, and then her mother to her other side.
“It is my pleasure,” Mr. Throckmorton replied. He had eyes only for Elizabeth though, and Elizabeth played her part with relish.
Alex’s smile grew tight with suspicion over her cousin’s behavior. She was enjoying the attention lavished on her too much. If she had any grace at all, she wouldn’t lead poor Mr. Throckmorton along, like a girl promising a schoolboy a lock of her hair if he carried her books. It was almost a relief when Mr. Throckmorton straightened and glanced away from Elizabeth for a moment, his gaze landing on one of the maids helping guest finds their seats.
Within a few minutes, the majority of the guests were seated. Alex quickly surveyed their table to judge what she was up against
. Mr. Throckmorton took a seat on Elizabeth’s other side, and an older gentleman with grey hair sat beside him. As Mayor Crimpley and his wife joined them at the table, Mr. Throckmorton introduced the grey-haired gentleman.
“Mayor Crimpley, do you remember Rev. Albright?”
To Alex’s surprise, the mayor spared only a curt nod for Rev. Albright and said, “I do.” He then switched places with her wife, moving her away from the reverend and taking the seat beside the man himself, but scooting his chair as far away as he could. A startled Mrs. Crimpley was forced to take a seat on her husband’s other side, next to a man who couldn’t have been much older than Alex, but who was dressed in a fine suit and had his hair neatly parted and combed.
Mr. Throckmorton covered the mayor’s rudeness by pushing on with, “And I’m not sure if you have made the acquaintance of Lord Ramsey.” He gestured to the gentleman across the table.
“Lord Ramsey?” Lady Charlotte perked up. “No, no I don’t believe we have met.”
The lord in question had the unfortunate honor of sitting at Lady Charlotte’s side.
“How do you do, madam,” Lord Ramsey nodded to Lady Charlotte, then on to Alex. His smile widened when he glanced on to Elizabeth.
Mr. Throckmorton tensed. “Lord Ramsey holds an estate on the other side of the Brynswater, a few miles north,” he said. “Lady Elizabeth represents her father, Lord Dyson, Earl of Thornwell in matters of importance.”
“Oh, yes,” Lord Ramsey said, a twinkle in his eye. “I know, I know.”
“My daughter, Lady Alexandra Dyson,” Lady Charlotte jumped in before the very mention of Elizabeth could steal all of Lord Ramsey’s attention, “is newly moved to Cumbria. Perhaps you could educate her about the charms of the county.”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” Lord Ramsey said with an over-wide smile.
Oh lord, Alexandra sighed. As supper was served by the hotel’s quick but slightly baffled-looking staff, Alex was forced to keep a smile on her face. Lord Ramsey rambled on to her about fishing and hunting and the joys of country life. She would have given anything to be allowed to eat her excellent supper in peace, but every time Lord Ramsey wrapped up one topic of conversation and attempted to engage Mrs. Crimpley on his other side, Lady Charlotte would bring up another topic and snag the gentleman’s attention all over again. Fishing indeed.
